Ashes to Ashes
by xteamlibertea
Summary: August 24, 1814. Washington D.C. has declared a state of emergency as the British soldiers march onto the city. At a request of Dolley Madison, America stays behind to save the famous painting of General Washington in the White House, only to fall hostage to a bitter stricken Englishman with a thirty-year grudge. USUK. One-Shot.


**Ashes to Ashes**

It was a warm and humid late-August night. Then again, most nights were warm and humid in Washington, D.C. around this time of year. Alfred pulled at his coat collar, examining himself in the mirror. He always sweated profusely whenever he wore his military uniform, and now was no exception. He debated on whether to just wear a traditional formal dress coat, but since he would be dining with his President, First Lady, and several members of Congress tonight, on top of being in the middle of the war, he thought his honorary blue and red military coat would be the most fitting and honorable. As the personification of the United States of America, he wanted to look his best.

The young man walked across his assigned guest room over to the vanity. Whenever he stayed with President Madison, James's wife always made sure that Alfred had the best room in the house, a lodging that overlooked Pennsylvania Avenue. If one looked to the southeast from the large window, the giant white dome of the Capitol building could be seen from above the trees.

Alfred quickly put his fingers into some pomade, trying to make his blond hair look somewhat tame. He gave himself one final inspection in the mirror before exiting his room, shutting the door behind him.

The White House was buzzing faster than a beehive full of worker bees. Servants ran about, some cleaning, others drawing curtains, and some carrying platters filled with fine china and food. Alfred walked down the stairs, ducking out of anyone's way. He offered a helping hand to a few passersby, but they all refused him, as per usual. The blond eyed all the plates of food going by, until his blue eyes deadlocked on a certain dish: chocolate bonbons. Alfred grinned to himself, padding his way over to the dish. He silently lifted a hand to grab one, practically drooling already at the prospect of tasting the delicious morsel.

_"It's just one. No one has to know. One ain't gunna kill me. It'll be a light snack before the main m—"_

"ALFRED F. JONES! You keep your hand out of those bonbons! I will not have you spoiling your appetite."

Alfred's hand immediately snapped back to his side like a pair of suspenders. His head whipped around quickly to the source of the voice. He'd recognize that voice from anywhere. "Sorry, Miss Dolley! It's just that…there was a rotten one, ya see! I was going to pick it out so no one suffered from an ill dinner!"

Dolley Madison reached up to gently pat his cheek, a loving gesture. "A likely story, young man. You may be able to absorb James with your charismatic words but you can't get past me." The First Lady straightened his collar, brushing off his shoulders. "Now, Alfred, you'll have to play host until President Madison arrives. I couldn't possibly greet the guests by myself. And I'm sure most will be delighted to see you."

Alfred nodded in return. They were expected to have around seventy people for dinner, the guest list full of senators, congressmen, and other notable socialites of the capital. "Of course, Miss Dolley! You can count on me! I can even play host when President Madison does get here. I'll make up for his lack of words." Alfred chuckled, aiming to make Dolley laugh.

The First Lady chuckled in response, knowing that her husband was indeed an introvert. "Dinner is still being prepared. The guests will be arriving within the half hour. Do see them to the red room until we are ready to be seated." She turned on her heel, walking down the hall in her formal dress. "And I'll be sure to save a helping on bonbons for you."

Alfred smiled to himself. Dolley always took such care of him. He always loved his First Ladies—and Abigail and both Marthas were no exception—but Dolley was an American treasure.

The young American did as he was instructed. He greeted their guests and made pleasantries, even shared stories to those who have not heard his first account tales of the War of Independence. Alfred, like his First Lady, was the life of the party. People just gravitated towards him; truly captivating, bold, and charismatic, much like the country he aimed to represent.

It was only an hour later until Alfred started to grow weary. He eyed the clock, glancing out the window every ten seconds.

_"Where is President Madison? He should be here by now."_

Alfred had a moment of self-doubt, a feeling that rarely occurred. He heard of the British sending their strong forces over the Atlantic, now that Napoleon was not a threat. But surely they couldn't possibly get to his capital to even get a peek.

That feeling sunk in even more as an American officer, one who was certainly not on the guest list, entered the room. He was sweaty and winded, but tried to discreetly make his way over to the First Lady. He handed her a folded letter, enclosed by the President's seal. She opened it calmly, but as her eyes scanned over its contents, her face began to grow white.

Dolley cleared her throat, an action that cued a servant to ring a bell in order to bring the noisy room down to a silence. She looked to the soldier, whose voice echoed out over the room. "Ladies and gentlemen! I arrive with grave news. The British have overtaken Bladensburg and have forced an American retreat. They are marching south towards Washington. We must evacuate immediately. There is no time to waste! Your lives are in danger!"

Pandemonium erupted within the room. Women screamed, men shouted, and several people made a sprint towards the exits. Alfred pushed his way across the room over to Dolley and the soldier, demanding answers. He was the United States of America; he did not run. "What?! Surely there is American resistance to prevent them from entering the city?!" 

"I am afraid not, sir. All of our men have retreated. They are marching towards the capital and there's nothing to get in their way."

"Then we must not waste time," Dolley stated quickly, turning to the servants to ask for a hand. "Grab as much silver as you can find. And any paintings. We must take it all out of the house."

The soldier turned to the woman and quickly bowed, "Mrs. Madison, I have been assigned to take you to your husband. We must leave at once."

"Where is he?"

"I cannot disclose that publicly. I do not want to put the President in danger."

The servants hurried past, arms full with utensils, dishware, and picture frames, stowing them quickly into the Presidential carriages outside. Dolley turned, walking over to a nearby table, starting to quickly shovel silver into her own handbag.

"Mrs. Madison!"

The officer shouted above the chaos, but Dolley kept going. Alfred quickly came to her aid, grabbing as much silver as he could find.

"Mrs. Madison, please!"

The pair went room after room, handing valuables to other servants who quickly carted them away.

"Mrs. Madison! We must go. The longer we wait the more dangerous it is! They are coming!"

Dolley turned to the officer, her voice surprisingly calm yet authoritative. "I insist on waiting until the large picture of General Washington is taken."

Alfred's eyes widened. He knew of the painting she was talking about. The three hurried to the dining room where the portrait was hung. Alfred took in the sight, holding his breath as he watched three servants trying to pry it from the wall, the frame not budging.

"It's no use, ma'am! It won't come loose!" a servant shouted.

"Keep trying! We cannot leave without it!"

Alfred balled his fists as his eyes glanced around the room, looking out the several windows in the room. He saw chaos in the streets. He could hear people screaming from outside. There was no time. He knew what he had to do. 

"I'll get it! I'll get the painting! Please leave with the officer, Miss Dolley!"

"But Alfred—"

"Miss Dolley, you know my strength. You've seen it first hand. I'll get it and make sure it's safe. I can't have you waiting any longer. Not on my watch. Give the President my regards when you see him. I'll rendezvous with you soon. Now go, please!"

Dolley contemplated for a moment before realizing the young man in front of her was right. She nodded, telling the servants to leave their post. They ran through the now deserted rooms, rushing to the main entrance. Alfred escorted her to her carriage outside, one of the few remaining within the vicinity. He helped her up, closing the door to safely secure her inside the buggy.

"I'll get it, Miss Dolley! I won't leave without it. You have my word!"

The First Lady smiled down at him with certain warmth in her eyes.

"I believe in you as I always have, America."

The driver whipped the horses in motion. Alfred quickly waved goodbye, watching as Dolley stuck her head out the window to call out one last farewell."

"And if you see a Redcoat, give him a swift kick for me!"

Alfred couldn't help but smirk. That sure wasn't the only thing he was going to do. Suddenly, the ground trembled. Alfred gasped as he heard a loud explosion coming from the east. The American's feet moved faster than his brain, running out across the lawn towards the street to get a better view. It did not take him long to find the source of the explosion. He stood there, motionless, as an image he could only fathom seeing in his nightmares came into his view. There before him was his Capitol, a symbol of his freedom and independence, engulfed his flames. The fire lit up the entire street, brighter than any street lamp could ever emit. He screamed in horror as the dome gave in, imploding into itself, followed by a cheer of a crowd of men.

"How dare they cheer! How dare they! I'll show them who's-!"

Alfred stopped; he was getting ahead of himself. He remembered his pledge to Dolley. Without wasting any more time, he left his torched Capitol behind him, running back towards the entrance of the White House. As he charged through the front doors, his solidarity became incredibly apparent to him. He was the only one left. He raced through the rooms, skidding into the dining room. Alfred's hands gripped around the corner of the picture frame, and with all of his might he pulled to no avail. He grunted as he yanked once more, his fingers turning white. The American stumbled backwards, the painting still mounted to the wall.

Alfred panicked. He looked around, trying to find a solution to his problem. His heartbeat quickened as he heard the shouts of the rival soldiers coming closer and closer, marching to their next destination. Alfred sprinted out the back of the room and outside the back of the house, tripping over his feet as he almost smacked into a fully tacked horse that was tied to the back steps, no doubt left for him to escape on. The American recovered, barreling into a toolshed nearby. He knocked over a few items, pushing them out of the way until he found what he was looking for.

_"A hammer!"_

Alfred picked up the tool and skidded back into the house. He stood before the frame, winding up the hammer and bringing it down with one swift blow. The bottom of the frame popped off instantly with a loud CRACK!

"YEAH!"

He tossed the hammer aside, quickly ripping away at the rest of the frame. He heard the front door of the house blast open as the sound of foreign male voices entered the halls.

"C'mon! Hurry! Hurry!"

Time was running out. He had to move fast. Alfred ripped the last piece of frame away and the canvas came crashing down. He dropped to his knees, rolling the painting up as fast as he could. This was it. He was going to make it! He was going to get out of there in the knick of time. He would be hailed a hero and his story would be told for decades to come!

_"Done!"_

Alfred rose to his feet quickly, turning to head for the back door. The moment he rose to his feet, however, he heard the familiar sound of several clicks of metal snapping into place. He turned slowly around to face the source of the noise, and there before him were a dozen British soldiers, all with their guns aimed towards him.

A rock sunk deep within Alfred's stomach as he hesitantly raised his hands over his head, the painting still in his grasp. He refused to believe this was his end. He refused to believe that he would be captured. He had to get out of this. He promised Dolley, he promised himself, and more importantly, he promised his country.

One of the soldiers barked suddenly, "Captain! We got ourselves a straggler!"

A whole flank of other soldiers entered the room upon being called. A voice, presumably the captain rang out among the sea of red. "A straggler, eh?" As the voice spoke, Alfred could see some soldiers move out of the way, making room for their commanding officer to come to the front. "Perhaps we can bound him up and hold him for rans—"

Alfred's eyes widened as the voice came to an abrupt halt. It was as if time had stopped as the British captain came into view. Standing before him was a man whom he hadn't seen in three decades, a man whom when he saw him last, Alfred had left him face down in the mud.

The lower ranking British soldier looked perplexed, adverting his eyes back and forth between the two other men. "Uhm…Captain Kirkland?"

There was more silence until the British officer started to speak.

"Well if it isn't my dear old friend, Alfred F.—oh, Jones now, is it? My, how you've _grown _since I last saw you! Here, let me get a better look at you."

Captain Arthur Kirkland advanced towards the American, the words dripping from his mouth as if they were laced in venom. Alfred would not have expected any less. Alfred had not spoken to him in more than thirty years, and he wasn't about to change that now. The American remained silent with his gaze forward as Arthur paced around him, drinking in his figure with his piercing green eyes.

"What a strapping young lad you've become! And you've even worn your military dress to greet me! How surprisingly sophisticated and mature of you."

Alfred gritted his teeth, refusing to even give the other man the courtesy of looking at him. Arthur frowned. He truly did not expect to run into his former colony on his deployment here, but now that he had the opportunity, he wanted to waste no time in getting the satisfaction of defeating Alfred.

Arthur turned to look at the table full of food, it was after all just prepared for dinner before everyone was forced to evacuate. He spoke in an overly delighted voice, addressing the rest of his guards, "And what is this? It appears Mr. Jones has invited us all to dinner! How very kind of him! Come gentlemen; let us not decline his hospitality. It is so _rare_ to find in Americans."

Alfred finally chimed in as the soldiers hurried over to the table. "I'm not hungry. You can pillage it. Now if you'll excuse me I'll—"

"Sit. Down. Alfred."

And with that single sentence Alfred was hurled half a century back into the past, back to when an empire would scold his disobedient colony. He was unarmed and at a disadvantage. He had no choice.

Alfred begrudgingly sat down at the end of the table, wanting to sit as far away from Arthur as possible. He knew the other man to have so much pride that any other seat that was not at the head of the table would be an insult to him.

And just as Alfred thought, Arthur sat at the other end of the table, folding out his napkin over his bright red coat. His soldiers dug in ravenously as he calmly prepared his plate like the proper gentleman he was known to be. Arthur smirked as he cut his ham into pieces, keeping his eyes on his food. 

"I am a bit upset you are our only welcoming party. And here I thought you would've put up more of a fight. Bladensburg was a bore, really. It only lasted a mere hour before your soldiers decided to run away."

Arthur's soldiers laughed in response, but Alfred was having none of it.

"Who knew you could use your pungent odor as a weapon."

Arthur glanced up from his plate, his green eyes drilling into the American once more. "I suggest you mind your tongue or you might lose it. Need I remind you that I just won a different war?"

"I don't need to be reminded of how such a tiny French man gave your so-called empire a run for it's money. It was in all of my newspapers."

Alfred couldn't even finish his sentence before Arthur stabbed his fork into a piece of his ham, the prongs digging into the meat before he lifted it to his lips.

"So you _are_ just as pig-headed as your brother says you are."

Alfred twitched. That stung a little know that Matthew said that. Or did he? Arthur had a wonderful talent of spinning the truth.

"My matters with my brother are none of your business."

Arthur pours himself a glass of wine, dabbing his napkin against his mouth before taking a sip. "Oh I think they are, especially since I still look after the lad. I always take care of, defend, and protect all of my territories, but you didn't stick around long enough to find that out." Arthur then raised his glass of wine, signaling a toast. "Such a shame President Madison could not dine with us this evening. A toast to dear Jimmy's health!"

The soldiers all laughed as they mockingly raised their glasses, clinking them before having a sip.

Alfred tried his best not to grip onto the rolled-up painting of President Washington. Arthur was worse than when he last saw him in the 1780s, and judging from how the start of this farce of a dinner was going, it was not going to end well.

Yes, it was true that Alfred and his brother, Matthew, had not had the best relationship in the past two years. Alfred didn't mean to bring him any harm; he just wanted the best for his brother, and in his opinion, the best was for him to leave Arthur and join him in his democracy. But Matthew was Matthew, and was timid and hesitant as always, and when he wouldn't budge, Alfred tried to force him.

"I do not need you to look after me. I do not need you to defend me. I do not need you to protect me. I do not need your King. I do not need your empire. And I do not need you. If this is your way of getting retribution I will hear none of it."

"Oh please, Alfred. We could have tried to go about this civilly. But no, why do I always expect so much more from Americans? Do you know what happened when my men approached the gate? We came with a white flag to negotiate peace, but what happened? One of your men shot him. So at this point in the game, I say you deserve what's being handed to you."

Alfred chose not to respond and instead sat there in silence, watching as Arthur and the rest of his men ate his food. The food that was meant for his leaders. The food that he was supposed to enjoy with his President and First Lady.

Alfred glanced about the room. He had to figure out a way to escape and get the painting into safe hands. But how? The soldiers sitting at the table with him were all armed. He had to get them to leave somehow. If he wasn't outnumbered, he might have a fighting chance.

"Of course, you never stood a chance. And your little brother certainly showed you the what-for. He didn't even need my help to kick you out of his territory. Three times? I think he told me...?"

Whether or not he was asking Alfred for a confirmation, Alfred would never know, because he chose not to answer.

"I wish I could have been there to see you raise that white flag during that first attack you tried in Michigan. Matthew was quite proud, you know."

"I'm sure he was."

After finally getting some acknowledgment from his ex-colony, Arthur looked up at him, gesturing a knife in Alfred's direction. "And to be quite honest with you, Alfred, out of the two of you I expected the most out of you. Your brother was always so quiet and introverted, and still is. I didn't think he stood a chance, but clearly I placed my bets towards the wrong hand."

"You have not won the war yet, Arthur. I would not be talking so high and mighty; you did that thirty-some years ago and look what happened to you."

The glare in Arthur's eyes returned. The glare that when Alfred was a young colony, would give him fear, but now he was no longer afraid.

"Alfred—"

"Oh, do your men not know about that? It's a great story. I think we should tell it."

"Where's the tea?"

Alfred and Arthur both glanced over to one of the British infantrymen who spoke up, clanking a small teaspoon against his cup. Alfred turned to the man with the politest, friendliest smile he could muster.

"In America we don't serve tea at our parties. We dump it."

"ENOUGH," Arthur raised his voice, demanding authority. He may have been smaller than Alfred, but he could demand power and respect as if he were a giant. It was a quality Alfred always admired, but not at this particular moment in time.

Arthur set his napkin onto his plate, implying that their meal was to cease. "Men, I'd like to have a few private words with our gracious American host. Search every room in this house. Take whatever valuables you can find. If there is anything of importance, I want you to bring it to me, is that understood?"

The soldiers stood suddenly, responding with a "Yes sir!" in unison. As they all piled out of the room, going upstairs and into other rooms, Alfred silently cheered to himself. Now all that was standing between him and his escape was the personification of Great Britain.

Arthur finished the last remaining drops of his wine before standing. Alfred caught a glimpse of a revolver holstered at his side, as well as a saber on the other. If only he could get to one of them. Then he'd have a chance.

"Alfred, I know very well why I'm fighting this puny war. But please, tell me, why are you exactly? It all seems rather silly to me."

"You know why. No doubt you received my declaration of war."

"Ah yes, I lightly skimmed over it. You see, I was rather preoccupied with Francis at the time. I would have never imagined being stabbed from behind by you for a second time though."

The words were loaded, and Alfred wasted no time in firing right back.

"Stabbing is a much quicker death than asphyxiation, don't you think? That was what you were doing—what with impressing my sailors, restricting my trade, and stirring up Indian warfare."

Arthur's thick eyebrows raised in surprise, "My my, such a _big _word for you. Did I teach you that one?" He shook his head, trying not to lose direction. "I even tried to be hospitable. Once I received word of your temper tantrum—"

"Hospitable?! You passed a law forbidding me from trading with France! A LAW. You can't tell me what to do or who to trade with! Are you that insecure over beating Francis that you have to cut off his resources from me?!"

"I rescinded the Orders in Council, Alfred. I destroyed the very thing that you were upset with just to appease you. I got rid of it before I even received your silly declaration of war. Yet here we are, I'm burning your capital into ashes and have you as a hostage. My, how the tables have turned."

Alfred refused to acknowledge his mistake. Yes, it was true that he declared war not knowing that Britain actually abolished the very thing he wanted to go to war over. His whole Northern campaign was also a mistake, but he wouldn't dare admit it.

"No tables have turned, Arthur. You do not have my President; you have seized nothing. Tell your mad, senile King that my people house freedom, liberty, and justice, not these empty, singed buildings you see around you."

Arthur slammed his fist onto the table, causing several of the dishes to knock against each other. He loomed over Alfred, his voice reverberating throughout the room. "HOW DARE YOU! How dare you to even conceive the notion that you could possibly take on Great Britain! I am the world's mightiest naval power! I will not be made a fool of again!"

"You certainly don't need my help to do that."

"And neither do you! Trying to invade Canada three times and running away like a dog with its tail between its legs."

Alfred finally stood up, now a few inches above Arthur. "Do not bring my brother into this. I was trying to show him how much better off he could be!"

"By burning his parliament?! What a noble gesture! It would be only right of me to return the favour! Oh but don't worry, I respected the fact that you are a democratic nation. We had a vote on it before burning your Capitol to the ground. Majority rules and all that."

And for the first time that evening, Alfred felt a stinging sensation within his heart. Normally he wouldn't have let anything Arthur had said get to him, but this one got through all of his defenses. Alfred could hear the soldiers scurrying about upstairs, and one even hurried back into the dining room, handing Arthur a bundled up pile of letters.

"Sir, we found these. Thought you'd might like to see."

Arthur took them silently, partially upset that his reprimanding had to be put on hold. He opened one, scanning the writing. A smirk can onto his face as a low, twisted chuckle came from his lips.

"Ah, they are love letters! From a Mr. James Madison to a Mrs. Dolley Madison. How charming. I think I'll keep these…"

Arthur placed the letters into the inside chest pocket of his coat, patting them to show that they are secure.

"There, I'll shall keep them safe and close to my heart."

"We are almost done searching the mansion, Captain. It will be ready to torch soon." 

The soldier saluted, exiting the room quickly to go back upstairs. Alfred felt his hands ball into fists. His brows furrowed as his face turned into a scowl, addressing Arthur once more.

"Those don't belong to you."

Arthur did not bother to look at him. He walked across the room towards the mantle, eyeing the pieces on display. "They don't? Well, I think I just seized some property, so I say that they do."

"You know, England, after thirty years I thought you might be different, but you haven't changed at all."

Arthur whipped his head around, glaring daggers at the younger man. "Oh I have, Alfred. I've done a great deal of changing in order to not have a tiny piece of land like you affect me so."

"Call me as I am! I'm a nation! I am the United States of America!"

"You will never hear such a thing from my mouth, Alfred!"

Alfred had to get out. He was running out of time.

"Just as you will never hear me surrender to the likes of you!"

"You will lose, Alfred! I will run you into the ground like I should've done thirty years ago! And this time I will show no mercy!"

"When have you ever showed mercy?! I know what you've done to Spain and France! I know what you've done to your own brother! I know what you can be! I can see right through your disguise, Arthur. Others can't but I can! You are nothing but a shell of what you used to be, and when your Empire falls there will be no one around to catch you. Now give me those letters. They were not meant for you!"

"NOT UNTIL YOU REPLY TO MINE!"

An eerie silence fell over the room for a few moments as Arthur paced about the room, rage consuming him. There had only been one person who could ever push Arthur past his breaking point, and that one person was standing before him.

"THIRTY YEARS. FOR THIRTY YEARS I HAVE BEEN WRITING YOU, ALFRED. FOR THIRTY YEARS I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO PICK THE UP THE PIECES…TO REKINDLE WHAT WE LOST…TO TRY TO HAVE…SOMETHING…WITH YOU. THIRTY YEARS I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR A REPLY."

Alfred remained silent as Arthur tore apart the room, throwing things about as if he was trying to find something. Alfred was starting to panic. He had to get out before this got worse. The longer he waited to lesser of a chance he had to escape. Arthur gestured to the many doorways around them.

"WHERE ARE THEY, ALFRED?! ARE THEY HERE?! DID YOU EVEN READ THEM?!"

Arthur stormed up to him, now mere inches away from the taller American.

"OR DID YOU JUST THROW THEM AWAY?! OR PERHAPS BURN THEM?! DID YOU EVEN OPEN THE SEAL?! ALL I WANTED WAS ONE REPLY! ONE BLOODY REPLY! ONE BLOODY REPLY TO KNOW THAT YOU—"

Alfred halted Arthur by placing a kiss onto his lips. Both of them certainly did not expect it. Arthur was stunned. In fact, he didn't know what to do. Or was he by chance hallucinating? Regardless, the breath that he held to hurl insults at the American escaped from his lungs. He hesitantly raised a palm up toward the back of Alfred's neck. The Englishman's stomach flipped as he felt Alfred return the gesture by placing his own hand on the nape of Arthur's neck…

…except Alfred's hand was cold….

…and made of steel…

Arthur gulped as Alfred backed away from him, his green eyes connecting with blue as his hand fumbled for the hilt of his sword, only for it to not be there.

In Arthur's moment of confusion, Alfred managed to take Arthur's saber from him, holding it up at the back of the Redcoat's neck. The American's expression remained unreadable, and what Alfred meant behind their kiss Arthur would never know.

"Now if you'll be excusing me, Captain. I have other obligations to attend to."

Alfred made a beeline towards the back doorway, praying that the horse was still tied up in the back. He hoped he left Arthur in such a daze that he could make it out unscathed. A wave of relief came over him as he saw the horse still there. He untied the steed and mounted it quickly, securing the rolled-up painting to one of the horse's packs. He was going to make it. He was going to get out of here!

Just as Alfred was about to whip the reigns, he heard the cocking of a gun once again. He turned his head, and standing before him was none other than Arthur Kirkland, aiming his revolver at pointblank range. Alfred froze, inwardly cursing at himself at forgetting that Arthur also had a firearm on his person.

Arthur gritted his teeth as anger and bitterness and every other callous feeling swelled within him. "Don't think I won't do it this time!" 

A memory stirred within Alfred's mind.

_"There's no way I can shoot you…I can't!"_

Alfred remained frozen. Even if he tried to run, Arthur would not miss, not at that close of a range. Either his horse or himself would go down. His blue eyes stared back at the Englishman, looking into those green eyes that were once kind and loving. Now they were black and cold.

Their standoff lasted for several seconds. Arthur's hand shook as he aimed the gun at Alfred's chest. His whole body shaking as his finger rubbed against the trigger. Grunts and groans fell from Arthur's mouth before he finally snapped.

"DAMN YOU!"

A gunshot sounded. Alfred shut his eyes and braced himself for the pain…only it never came. When he opened his eyes once more he found Arthur, pointing the gun at the sky, sending the bullet to the stars.

Alfred took no time in saying goodbye. He kicked his heels into the horse's sides and entered into a gallop, riding away as quickly as he could. By this point, he could hear the sound of concerned soldiers coming out of the White House, all wondering about the gunshot.

As Alfred rode down the street to safety, he could hear screams from an all too familiar voice, one that he hoped he would never hear for at least another thirty years to come.

"BURN IT! BURN EVERYTHING! BURN IT TO THE GROUND! BURN IT UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING LEFT! LET THEM SEE IT FROM MILES AWAY! I WILL LIGHT THE BIGGEST FIRE AMERICA HAS EVER SEEN!"


End file.
